


Five Times Steve Carried an Avenger (And One Time an Avenger Carried Steve)

by celtic7irish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D Season One Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times that Steve carried an Avenger.  And one time that an Avenger carried him.  Spoilers for Winter Soldier & Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Steve Carried an Avenger (And One Time an Avenger Carried Steve)

**TONY**

Tony swore, grimacing as he pried his armor apart, wincing as the gold-titanium plates dug into his flesh, bruising and cutting before coming loose with a hard wrench. He surveyed the damage to his leg expertly, then sighed, his hands pressing lightly on the bruises, feeling the heat emanating from his right leg around the area where the broken metal had torn into him. “Shit,” he muttered whole-heartedly, wondering if he’d be able to stand at all. His prospects weren’t looking good.

 

There was a roar nearby, and Tony grinned viciously, the vibrations from the Hulk’s bellows thrilling down his spine. At least one of them was having fun, he thought idly, pulling off the rest of the armor where he sat on a pile of rubble, the destroyed remains of a robot something-or-other sparking at his feet.

 

His com unit crackled in his ear, useless, and Tony pulled it out in frustration, dropping it onto the scraps of armor that were now littered around him. SHIELD would move in after the battle to handle clean up, though Tony would sooner self-destruct his suit than let it fall into Fury’s greedy little hands. Given what they had been able to do with the Tesseract, he didn’t want to hand over his proprietary arc reactor technology.

 

The sounds of battle wound down, and Tony braced his hands on the rubble, trying to find a relatively flat area to use to get his feet under him so he could climb down. Normally, he’d just fly the suit back to the Avengers Tower and hobble into his workshop before the others arrived. Unfortunately, the armor was too badly damaged this time to be of any use, and his backups were still in production. He mourned the loss of his other suits, since even their destruction hadn’t been enough to keep Pepper with him.

 

With a sigh, he started the slow crawl to the street, grimacing every few seconds as his ankle sent bolts of agony through his entire leg, causing the muscles to tighten and spasm. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a hot bath and a bottle of whisky right about now.

 

By the time Tony slipped to ground level, the battle noises had stopped, and he huffed in irritation. No doubt he’d hear about this from Steve later, about how unreliable and defiant he was. Tony grumbled to himself. The Captain was such a tight ass. Tony was doing the best he could, he really was. It wasn’t his fault that his mind was continually running scenarios and adjusting to choose the one with the greatest chance of success for least amount of lives lost. He knew it messed with the other man’s strategizing, but Tony had never been one to sit around and follow orders when there was a better way he could take now. Like he had told Steve when they first met, he was the guy who cut the wire, rather than laying on it for the other guys to crawl over him.

 

“Stark! What do you think you’re doing?” Tony winced; it figured that Captain Fucking America would be the first one to find him. Why couldn’t it have been Hulk? Hulk liked Tony, and would have carried Tony without prompting. And even more importantly, nobody would yell at Tony in front of Hulk. They had learned their lesson after the first time.

 

“Climbing off that pile of rubble. What does it look like I’m doing?” he retorted, raising an eyebrow contemptuously. He could see the seething anger behind Steve’s blue eyes, and his grin widened as he bared his teeth. “What? Battle’s over, we won – at least, I assume we won since you’re here, Capsicle – and no lives were lost in the making of this production. So what’s your problem?”

 

Steve growled. He actually _growled_. Tony wished he was still in his suit, so he could have had JARVIS record that. Moving forward, he grabbed Tony by the front of his underarmor, his large hand fisting in the material as he shook Tony until the smaller man felt dizzy and slightly nauseous. His ankle twisted under him, and he bit back a small whimper at the shot of pain while Steve yelled at him.

 

“Goddamn it, Tony! Why can’t you just do what you’re told for once? I can’t protect everyone if I don’t know where they are. I need you to follow orders. You might not be a soldier,” he spat, clearly referring back to their very first actual conversation aboard the helicarrier, “but you’re still a part of this team. Start acting like it!”

 

He gave Tony one more rough shake and released him. Tony’s ankle finally gave out completely, and he sprawled backwards in an inelegant heap, unable to suppress the groan of pain as his back struck the debris behind him. Shit, that probably added a couple more bruises to the ones he already had from the _last_ battle. The Iron Man suit was awesome, yeah, but it didn’t exactly keep Tony from getting knocked around by things that were bigger than he was. Shit.

 

“Tony? Tony? What’s wrong?” Steve’s voice was suddenly close again, and this time it was concerned. Tony shook his head, twisting around and forcing himself to his knees. That was a mistake, he realized, as his stomach tossed and heaved. Opening his mouth, he retched, choking, his breathing restricted and tears leaking out of his eyes.

 

When he was done throwing up everything he’d eaten in the past week, Tony leaned back shakily, then winced as his ankle protested the extra weight. “Fuck,” he breathed, not sure if he was talking about his ankle, his stomach, or the fact that Captain America had just witnessed him throwing up after a little bit of shaking. God, he really was the weak one on the team, wasn’t he? He growled in frustration, his hand moving up to wipe across his mouth as he grimaced in disgust. Shit.

 

“Tony?” came another voice, this one significantly more welcome. Tony ignored Steve completely as he lifted his head to greet Bruce with a weak smile.

 

“Hey there, Big Guy,” he said, rather than answering the silent question in Bruce’s warm eyes. “Seemed like you were having fun out there. Sorry I missed it.”

 

Bruce was frowning at him now, his eyes sharp as he took in Tony’s disheveled appearance, things clicking into place rapidly. He turned his glare towards Steve, and Tony could just imagine the sheepish grimace the other man was wearing. He really didn’t feel like causing trouble among two of his teammates – Hulk tended to get stubborn and refuse to follow orders if he was mad at the Captain. So instead, he put his hands back under him and tried to get back on his feet.

 

“Oh, no you don’t, Tony,” Bruce snapped, and Tony froze for a split second. Bruce very rarely used that tone with him, so when he did, Tony fucking well listened.

 

He could hear Bruce moving towards him, and then crouching in front of him, helping him shift away from the puddle of vomit on the ground. Tony curled his lip in disgust, but stayed still while Bruce prodded at him, frowning heavily when he got to his ankle. “This might be fractured,” he murmured, his large, warm hands gentle as they surrounded the limb. “You’re not walking on this, and your suit is too damaged to get you back home safely.” Tony gave a resigned sigh; not much got past the mild mannered physicist when it came to his ‘patients’. Damn him and his big, beautiful brain.

 

Without a word, Bruce helped Tony up to his feet, and the billionaire shifted all his weight to his good leg, tucking his lower lip behind his teeth as he concentrated on staying upright and not throwing up. Once was plenty enough, thank you very much.

 

“Steve,” Bruce said, and Tony’s head snapped up, which was a bad move. He moaned as he sagged in Bruce’s hold, closing his eyes as his head spun in vicious circles. Shit, what god had he pissed off in a previous life for his karma to be this sucky?

 

Hands were suddenly behind his back and pressing against the back of his thighs, just above his knees. The super soldier picked him so effortlessly and quickly that Tony had to grab onto him just to avoid tipping sideways back out of his arms.

 

Tony squirmed, kicking his feet awkwardly and pushing against Steve’s chest. The bastard didn’t even twitch, just stared back at him guiltily. “Tony, please stop moving, or I might drop you,” he said, and his voice was gentle.

 

Tony snarled. “Yes, by all means, drop me! Damn it, Spangles! Put. Me. Down!” he snapped. Steve’s only response was to reposition Tony and grip him tighter before nodding at Bruce.

 

Tony’s best friend, the traitor, turned to him. “Tony, stop moving right now,” he ordered firmly. Tony stilled immediately, his face turning down into an angry sulk. “Now, if you’re finished with behaving like a three-year old, how about we get you out of here before Medical shows up and tries to drag you in?” he suggested. Tony sagged at that; he hated SHIELD Medical. Bruce was more or less offering to help him and Steve bypass them entirely so he could be seen to back at the Avengers Tower, by Bruce.

 

“All right, fine. Lead on, Macduff!” Tony said imperiously, throwing his arm out dramatically. Bruce and Steve just sighed, but they did as he had suggested. Tony just hoped none of the others saw him, as he let himself be carried by Captain America. Then again, there were worse things than being held by the iconic symbol of all that was good and wholesome and _American_.

 

“No way! Is Iron Man being carried by Captain America?!” an obnoxious voice chimed in. Clint wore a shit-eating grin as he heckled Tony, who just scowled, glaring at the birdbrain. Clint would rue the day he’d poked fun at Tony Stark. Because revenge? Yeah, revenge was pretty sweet.

 

 

**CLINT**

Clint went from unconscious to conscious in about two seconds flat, though he was careful to keep his breathing even and his eyelids closed as he took stock of where he was. Spying 101: Never let a potential enemy know that you were awake. Because then they wanted information.

 

He smelled clean cotton and the strong tang of sterility. Underneath that was the faint scent of blood. His own, judging by the way his body felt. To his right, there was movement, and Clint could smell the shampoo that Natasha used only when he wound up in SHIELD Medical or somewhere else that was safe. It was her way of letting him know that they weren’t in enemy hands. Clint had a special cologne he’d wear for the same reason.

 

His eyes fluttered open as he groaned. “Shit, Nat? What the hell? Did a building fall on me or something?” he muttered, his voice rasping harshly in his throat, like sandpaper. Or maybe just sand. Ugh, his mouth felt dry and gritty.

 

A straw was held out to him by steady hands, and the archer sipped gratefully as he finished taken stock of his body. His upper body appeared to be mostly in good working order, which was awesome, because that meant he hadn’t screwed up his arms, which meant he could still shoot his bow and arrow. SHIELD Medical had a nasty habit of confiscating his weapons when any part of his arms were out of commission. Like he couldn’t wield a bow with two broken fingers. Come on!

 

Now that he could talk without feeling like he was swallowing glass, Clint repeated his question. “What happened?” A quick scan of his memory turned up nothing, and he realized he must’ve gotten a concussion. Which meant the bow and arrow were probably locked up in Natasha’s care – or Stark’s. Since he had joined the Avengers, the rest of his team wouldn’t let SHIELD confiscate his weapons, though they were perfectly willing to hold them hostage themselves. But they wouldn’t make him jump through a bunch of hoops to get them back. Instead, they’d follow Natasha’s lead, and since Natasha loved him – or rather, since she felt the same way about her Widow’s Bite and her knives – he’d have them back sooner rather than later.

 

Natasha’s voice, when she spoke, was completely neutral. Which meant that she was really, really pissed at him. “You jumped off a building. Do you remember that?” Clint shrugged; he jumped off of buildings a lot. That’s what the grappling arrow was for. Except…oh, that’s right. It hadn’t worked. Clint felt his face tightening into a scowl.

 

His partner caught his look. “Stark’s working on making new arrows,” she said, and it was almost comforting. Clint felt his mood increase exponentially. Stark had made new Widow’s Bites for Natasha, and they were _awesome_! And the Iron Man suit? Clint would never admit it, but even he knew that Stark Tech was better than anything SHIELD could possibly come up with. And if there was one thing that Clint was starting to realize, it was that Tony took the team’s safety every bit as seriously as the Captain. But because he had the mentality of a kid, he compromised by building them tech – better weapons, better armor, better everything – and then presenting it to them in as annoying and ostentatious a manner as possible.

 

Natasha gave him a moment to relish the news before continuing from where she’d left off to reassure him. “Hulk was three blocks down and had his back turned. He was furious. And now Bruce feels guilty.” The look she gave him made him feel like a chastised toddler. He really hated making Bruce feel sad. The man always looked sort of pathetic anyhow, like an overgrown spaniel, and when he gave them sad eyes, Clint had to resist the urge to cuddle him and tell him everything would be all right, that he’d protect him forever and ever and ever. Not only would Bruce get annoyed at him, but the Hulk would probably have something to say about it, too, and Clint smashed himself enough without the other guy’s help.

 

Clint frowned, deciding to worry about Bruce’s feelings later. He still had some problems of his own to sort out. “I’m not dead,” he pointed out logically. “Which means that somebody caught me, right?” He still couldn’t remember anything that had happened. He remembered fighting the mutant scorpion things, and an explosion, and the sight of them skittering up the sides of the building, surrounding him. That must’ve been when he’d decided to jump. And his arrow had failed. Stark’s arrows had better be _fabulous_.

 

“Cap threw his shield into you,” Natasha admitted after a moment, and her lips twitched slightly in amusement. “Nobody was close enough, so he just threw his shield, and it hit you in the ribs and threw you through a window.” Ah, and that would explain why his entire abdominal area was protesting the slightest movements. Nothing like being hit with the thin edge of a fucking Vibranium shield to let you know you’d done something stupid.

 

Natasha’s smile grew wider. “Poor Captain Rogers felt so guilty,” she continued, and Clint eyed her suspiciously, feeling dread pooling in his stomach. “He wouldn’t let Medical touch you, insisted on bringing you in himself.” Clint was starting to see where this was going, and he dropped his head into his hands with a quiet moan.

 

Natasha chuckled. “Steve carried you all the way to the Quinjet, then held you until we got to the Helicarrier. Then, he carried you to Medical. It was quite the spectacle,” she said gleefully.

 

Clint glared at her hatefully. “I hate you so, so much right now, bitch,” he mock-snarled. She just smirked back at him, rightfully not believing a bit of it.

 

“By the way,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “Tony’s suit wasn’t destroyed this time.” Clint’s eyes widened in dawning horror as she continued. “I do believe he might’ve taken video. He was muttering something about YouTube.”

 

Clint’s swearing was muffled by the hands still covering his face, but it was distinct nonetheless, and Nat patted him on the shoulder. It wasn’t comforting.

 

Just as he was debating whether or not he could slip out of Medical before Stark waltzed in, the door slid open, and a cheerful billionaire bounced inside. Clint didn’t bother to suppress his groan. “Dammit, Stark, can’t a man convalesce in peace?” he moaned.

 

“No can do, Birdbrain!” Tony said cheerfully, practically dripping with glee. “Besides, you hate medical as much as I do, so I know you wanna get out of here. And so….ta-da! Here I am, come to bail you out!” In other words, he’d charmed the nurses into looking the other way while Clint snuck out. At least he was useful for something.

 

Clint stood on shaky legs, glad to see that he was at least wearing pants, even if they were a bit baggy. He glanced at Natasha, who just smiled benignly.

 

“Ah, Hawky, Hawky,” Tony said, his tone delightfully poisonous, “what a scene you made, unconscious and bloody, swooning in Cap’s arms.” Clint grimaced at the image that popped into his head at that. At least Tony Fucking Stark had been _awake_ when their team leader had carried him. And he had been allowed to recover at the Tower, instead of being stuck in SHIELD’s medical ward. Goddammit. How was it that the idiot genius had all the luck?

 

“Stark, shut up,” Clint growled. “Or I swear, a stray exploding arrow just might wind up lodged in your ass during the next battle.” Natasha pinched him discreetly, and Clint winced. Ow.

 

Tony just shrugged. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied dismissively. “And if you do, I won’t make you a pretty new bow and quiver to go with all the shiny new arrows.” He was fiddling with his Stark Phone as he talked, his finger sliding across the screen, pausing occasionally to tap on it for a moment.

 

Clint practically salivated. “Seriously? All that? Oh, I worship thee, mighty Man of Iron,” he quipped brightly. Tony laughed, a deep, rich chuckle that made Clint smile to hear it. Tony didn’t laugh like that often, only when he was very, very happy. The archer had heard that sound even less after Pepper had left.

 

“Now, this is before the lovely carry by our dear Captain,” Tony informed him, turning the phone towards Clint and holding it up so the archer could see. It was a video of himself, falling from the roof, his bow pointed unerringly upwards as the mutant scorpions swarmed the rooftop he had been on only seconds before. Sure enough, the grappling arrow got tangled and fell short, leaving Clint to continue to freefall.

 

Then, almost as if out of nowhere, Captain America’s shield whirled into view, slamming hard into Clint and ricocheting him through a window, glass flying everywhere as he crashed into the building. “Shit,” he breathed softly, then checked the video address, realizing that it was from Tony’s files. In other words, the man might use the videos to tease Clint, and to threaten him with, but he wouldn’t really post it on YouTube or anything like that. Probably.

 

Clint didn’t shrug off Tony’s arm when it looped around his shoulders, pulling him closer to the other man. It wouldn’t do to antagonize Tony right now, while they were still in Medical.

 

Besides, he thought with a small smile at nothing in particular as they made their escape to the landing, where a Quinjet was ready and waiting for them, he really, really wanted those shiny new toys Stark had promised.

 

 

**NATASHA**

Natasha swore filthily in Russian, glaring at the slightly shame-faced assassin sprawled across the floor across from her, even as she knew she couldn’t really blame him for her own carelessness. It had been stupid for her to try to take on the Winter Soldier by herself, knowing that even Steve couldn’t beat him. But then again, the Captain had a huge soft spot for the Hydra assassin, a weakness that Natasha did not share.

 

After bringing down the entire SHIELD organization along with its Insight Helicarriers, Steve had gone hunting for his old friend every chance he got, when he wasn’t being called in for Avengers work. Since the organization’s fall, Tony had used JARVIS to track volatile situations, trying to keep on top of things. SHIELD was slowly rebuilding, with the help of its new Director and Tony’s resources, but since their exposure, every mediocre evil genius and criminal mastermind had crawled out of the woodwork, the temptation of a weakened opponent far too tempting.

 

The Avengers had quickly disabused every wannabe dictator from their attempts at world domination, and things had slowly started to settle. SHIELD was lumbering back to its feet, and that helped enormously, allowing Tony to pull JARVIS’s focus for other tasks, one of which had apparently included tracking down Bucky Barnes.

 

As soon as Tony had a bead on the ex-assassin, Steve had gone after him. Natasha had no idea what had happened between Steve’s departure and his return, but when he had come back, the Winter Soldier had been with him, unarmed and confused, but still just as lethal. Tony had effectively put him under lockdown while he worked on deprogramming him, but Steve had been allowed to go in and talk to him whenever he wanted. Then again, even if Tony – or Natasha – had told him not to, he would have gone, so Tony had apparently decided to just let the super soldier do whatever he wanted.

 

As the Winter Soldier had receded, leaving a slightly less twitchy Sergeant Barnes in his wake, Steve had taken up sparring with the other man. Watching the two of them dance around each other, not holding back even a little, had been awe-inspiring and beautiful to watch. Natasha had seen the way Bucky moved, his movements more lithe and graceful than Steve’s. More like her own.

 

Bucky wasn’t small, by any means, but given the fact that he had been pitted against all sorts of opponents and targets and come out relatively unscathed, he had obviously learned to use his size and flexibility to his advantage.

 

When Steve and Bucky sparred, there was no telling who would win until the very last moment. Usually, it was Barnes who won, pinning Steve down, his metal arm wrapped around the other man’s throat or tangled in his hair, forcing his head and throat to bend back uncomfortably. And every time, Steve would surrender with good grace, his eyes blackened and his lips bloody, his body covered in bruises. But he was happy, and Bucky was…if not happy, then at least not unhappy.

 

And then Steve had gotten called away to DC, to speak in front of some military tribunal, and Bucky had been left behind. Nobody knew what had happened to the Winter Soldier, and Steve intended to keep it that way.

 

Bucky hadn’t taken well to being left behind, growing increasingly more volatile the longer he was separated from Steve. The Captain couldn’t even risk a phone call, on the off-chance that he’d be overheard by someone who would be able to put two and two together and actually come up with four. The ex-assassin had taken to pacing restlessly in the set of rooms that had been set aside for him, snarling at anybody who came close. Only Tony was allowed near, and that was only to check on his metal arm. As soon as the inspection was done, the Winter Soldier chased him away with threats and barely restrained violence. Tony accepted the treatment with surprisingly good grace, but nothing seemed to be improving Barnes’ mood.

 

And so, against her better judgment, Natasha had offered to spar with him. The shock and mistrust in his eyes had been expected; the ready agreement had not. And so they had both come down to the gym to spar, to let out some of that pent up aggression. Natasha wouldn’t admit it, but Barnes wasn’t the only one at a loss at the moment. Clint was gone, too, somewhere in Southern Europe, tracking a gaggle of stray Hydra agents with a small team of SHIELD agents. Seeing as that SHIELD and Hydra had been one and the same not that long ago, Natasha couldn’t help but worry.

 

Of all the people in the world, Clint was the only one she trusted to have her back. Coulson as well, perhaps, but he was the Director now; he had too many responsibilities, and neither she nor Clint would interfere with that. They both understood sacrifice, no matter how much it might hurt in the process, and so they kept their distance, maintained a solely professional relationship with the man who had once been the only handler to actually have their backs.

 

So yes, she understood where Barnes was coming from. Unfortunately, she may have waited a bit too long to make the offer, she realized, as she prodded carefully at her dislocated kneecap. She could pop it back into place, of course, but it would hurt like a bitch. And, she realized, she didn’t have to handle this by herself anymore.

 

“JARVIS? Could you please ask Doctor Banner to come to the gym?” she asked politely. The AI responded in the affirmative while across from her, Barnes flinched almost violently, dark eyes filling with trepidation. Natasha smiled. “My kneecap is dislocated. Normally, I’d take care of it by myself, or have Clint help me, but Doctor Banner is likely to be more upset if I do that than if I call him here now to take a look at it. He’s seen me in worse condition than this,” she admitted wryly. “I’m pretty sure he won’t Hulk out. Unless Tony’s been more annoying today than usual,” she added with a small smirk of satisfaction as Barnes grimaced, not finding her words very reassuring.

 

Slowly, Barnes sat up and moved towards her, telegraphing his every move. Natasha wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t want to discourage him for being cautious either, so she watched him intently, but kept her face expressionless and her body as relaxed as possible. It had been stupid, baiting him like that, and she had paid for it with a dislocated knee and a couple of new bruises. He could’ve killed her, and she knew it, even if he didn’t.

 

When he reached her, Barnes reached out and touched her leg carefully, examining the injury. “I’m…sorry,” he offered, and while he was hesitant, his voice was sincere.

 

Natasha laid her smaller hand over his, and Barnes froze, staring at her with wide eyes, obviously torn between making sure she was okay and putting as much distance between them as possible. “It’s all right,” she said carefully, watching him. “This is hardly the worst damage I’ve had. You should try sparring against the Hulk,” she muttered, remembering their wild chase on the Helicarrier. She had thought that she was going to die that day. Bruce still looked guilty whenever the topic was brought up.

 

Barnes nodded, but Natasha suspected it was more to pacify her than out of any real belief. “You are going to wait for your friends before you push it back into position?” he asked.

 

Natasha shrugged, her hands pressing on either side of her leg, forming a makeshift splint to keep her leg as straight as possible. “Yeah, because otherwise I’ll have to listen to him bitch. Besides, Doctor Banner has a tendency to make it not hurt as much as when I do it myself. I’m really not sure how that works, since he does the same thing I do, just from the other side,” she admitted ruefully.

 

Barnes opened his mouth to answer, but just then the gym doors slid open, admitting Bruce Banner…and Steve Rogers. Bruce headed straight for Natasha, ignoring Steve, who had frozen in the doorway, bright blue eyes darting between the two combatants. “What happened?” he breathed. Barnes flinched. A moment later, his expression hardened, and Natasha recognized the coping method for what it was. The ex-assassin was trying to pull back so that when the Captain cut him loose, it didn’t hurt so much. She could’ve told him it wouldn’t work. She’d attempted the same thing with Clint, after all.

 

Wordlessly, Bruce knelt down next to her and prodded gently at the swollen area around her knee. “Bucky, could you prepare an ice pack, please?” he suggested, though it really wasn’t a question. “Bring it to the living room. We’ll be along shortly.”

 

Barnes nodded and stood up, moving quickly to exit the gym. Steve stepped aside to let him pass, but murmured a quick, “Bucky,” as the smaller man walked by. Barnes looked up at Steve, and whatever he saw there must have reassured him, because his shoulders were less tense as he left the room. Steve turned towards Natasha, who opted to focus on him rather than on Bruce down by her injured knee. “What happened?” Steve asked softly, and Natasha felt her lips curling up into a smile. Steve had learned to ask first and judge later after so badly misjudging Tony when they had first met. True, the genius was annoying and reckless and thoughtless, but that wasn’t all he was. Steve had seen that when Tony had flown that bomb into the portal. It was a lesson that had held him in good stead.

 

“I offered to spar with him. He was restless, I was restless; it seemed like a good idea at the time. I…said something I should not have,” she admitted softly, her eyes dropping demurely to the floor to hide the small flash of pain as Bruce pushed her kneecap back into place, then set about bandaging the knee. Steve was smart enough to not ask what Natasha had said to make the other man attack her so viciously. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him. Or Barnes would.

 

With her knee back in place, the pain decreased exponentially, and Natasha shifted impatiently, wanting to climb to her feet. Bruce shot her a quelling look, causing her to still and cock an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to carry me?” she demanded.

 

Bruce just smiled. “Why do you think I brought Steve?” he replied benignly. Natasha blinked, then chuckled. Of course, Steve was still in his uniform, which meant that he had probably just arrived back at the Tower and hadn’t had time to eat, shower, or change clothes yet. Bruce had undoubtedly snagged him on the way to the gym, figuring that _somebody_ was going to need to either be carried, supported, or restrained.

 

Batting her eyes coquettishly at Steve, Natasha purred, “So, Captain, does that make you my knight in shining armor?” she teased lightly.

 

Steve snorted, but moved forward and leaned down to pick her up. Natasha easily wrapped her arms around his shoulders and the back of his neck, making it easier for him to pick her up princess-style. “More like your all-American hero in spangly spandex,” he muttered, and Natasha hid a grin behind her hair. So Steve _had_ been listening to Tony, after all. Who would’ve figured?

 

Steve headed for the living room, his long legs striding confidently across the floor and towards the stairs. They’d get ice on her leg and reassure Barnes that everything was fine, and it was an easily overlooked mistake – on both their parts.

 

Natasha closed her eyes and leaned against Steve’s broad chest, feeling his arms tighten protectively around her. Behind her, Bruce was filling Tony in on what had happened, and the engineer was watching her with mild concern. As she relaxed into Steve’s hold, she thought that maybe, just maybe she could do this, could trust them.

 

They’d be more than worth it, she was sure. All of them.

**BRUCE**

Bruce groaned deep in his throat as he slowly regained consciousness, his body aching in that way that told him the Other Guy had come out to play – and had played hard. Squirming, he realized two things. First, he was completely naked, not even his pants had survived. And secondly, something sharp and rough was digging into his back at the base of his spine. Ouch.

 

And third, he realized a moment later, he wasn’t alone. There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and Bruce twisted his head around to stare at a battered Tony Stark. “Tony?” he croaked.

 

The other man moaned softly in reply, dark eyes fluttering open. “Ow, shit. What the hell hit me?” he grumbled. “I feel like the Hulk used me for target practice.” He sat up slowly, a hand pressed to his forehead as he looked around, quickly catching sight of Bruce. The physicist didn’t know what his face looked like, but it must have been pretty alarming, because Tony was quick to reassure him, “It wasn’t the Big Guy, Bruce. He protected me, actually,” he admitted, scowling. Obviously he felt that he shouldn’t have needed protection.

 

Bruce eyed him warily for a moment before deciding that Tony was probably telling the truth. Then he set about getting himself upright. He wasn’t physically injured – he never was after a transformation – but he certainly wasn’t comfortable, either. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was a bit grateful that there didn’t appear to be any bystanders around to witness his state of undress. Which meant that he probably wouldn’t get arrested for public indecency today.

 

He moved to stand…and promptly fell right back down onto his ass, grimacing as stones dug into his unprotected human flesh. He realized that he was weak and dizzy. “How many transformations?” he groaned softly, pressing fingers against the bridge of his nose as he pulled up hazy memories. Tony, for his part, remained silent while he puzzled it out, which Bruce was grateful for.

 

No wonder he was so exhausted, he realized after a moment. This last transformation had been his third one in a twenty-seven hour period. For a man who had once gone for over a year without a transformation, that was a bit much, even for him.

 

There had been the explosion in the chemical synthesizer lab yesterday afternoon. The noise and heat and explosions of glass and chemical compounds had brought the Hulk out almost instantaneously, which was fortunate since Tony had been in the lab at the time. The man had managed to emerge mostly unscathed, with only a few superficial cuts and burns to show for it.

 

And then Doctor Doom had decided that it would be a good idea to attack in the dead of the night. Tony had been pissed, grumbling about rude super villains who kept superheroes from getting a proper amount of rest. It didn’t help that they were down one of their heavy hitters, either. Thor had been called back to Asgard to deal with something or other; it really wasn’t important to the rest of the team.

 

So that had left Steve, Tony, Clint, Natasha, and Bruce to take up the slack. Which, of course, meant that they had to call the Other Guy in. Hulk had not appreciated being dragged out for a second time in a matter of hours, and the Doombots had met a brutal and swift demise under his fists. The fight had been over less than twenty minutes later, but the damage had been done. Bruce had all but passed out the moment he’d tumbled into his bed at the Avengers Tower.

 

And then, not even seven hours later, an Asgardian witch by the name of Amora had decided to rain magic and destruction upon the earth in a bid to catch Thor’s attention, despite the fact that the Asgardian wasn’t even on the planet. Hulk had been incredibly displeased at having the stupid Thunder Man causing him more problems when he wasn’t even around to clean up after himself. Hulk had been needed because he had already proven impervious to Amora’s magic, unlike Tony’s suit of armor, or the more human members of their team.

 

The battle was fast, brutal, and messy. Thor had shown up after the battle was over, sent by Heimdall with the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three to take Amora back to Asgard to face punishment for her actions. Hulk hadn’t stuck around to watch, immediately heading for the spot where he’d seen Iron Man fall after the puny goddess had struck him with the magical equivalent of an EMP. The fall had dropped the suit through a dozen floors, and the building had collapsed shortly after that, when another of Amora’s spells had struck it after being deflected by Captain America’s shield.

 

Once sure that his friend was okay, Hulk had sat down and just gone to sleep, leaving an unconscious Bruce sprawled on the ruins of the building.

 

As the vague memories starting piecing themselves together, Bruce sighed. “Three? I’m used to people having a problem with the Hulk, but this is just ridiculous,” he groaned softly. His only reply was a chuckle and the sound of shifting rubble as Tony moved closer to him. Once he was close enough, Tony sat next to him, his arm pressed comfortingly against Bruce’s.

 

“I’d offer you my clothes, but they didn’t survive much better than yours,” he mused ruefully. Bruce opened one eye to peer appraisingly at the other man, noting that Tony wasn’t exaggerating. His undersuit had been torn in several places, offering glimpses of bruised flesh. Tony must’ve seen the question in his stare, because he smiled grimly. “That bitch didn’t just drop me out of the sky. She took over the fucking suit,” he grumbled, gesturing around them at the collapsed building. There were smoldering pieces of metal scattered everywhere, most of them charred beyond recognition. “So I blew it up on her. She didn’t like that much,” he smirked.

 

Bruce huffed a laugh. “I hope you have a spare armor,” he said. Tony just waved his hand dismissively; of course he had a spare suit. He probably had half a dozen of them ready to go. Bruce wondered idly what number he was up to now. It was difficult to keep track of sometimes.

 

A moment later, Bruce was swaying in place, his eyes closing as he slumped over, right into a startled Tony Stark’s arms. “Hey now, Brucey buddy, pal. You okay?” Tony asked, his voice worried. Bruce nodded tiredly and mumbled something vague, and Tony just pulled him in closer, holding him steady. “Yeah, I’ll just bet you’re exhausted. After this, how about we go back to the tower and feed you? I’ll have JARVIS order some pizzas. Maybe twenty,” he rambled. He didn’t seem to be expecting Bruce to answer him, so he just let himself rest with his eyes closed. The others would find them soon enough.

 

It was almost ten minutes later that Bruce was dragged out of his half-doze by the sound of scrambling. Tony had heard it, too. “Hey, Cap! I’ve got a fluffy scientist here that could use a little lift, if you’d be so kind,” Tony grinned widely, gesturing at the man clambering over the rubble towards them. Bruce shot him a filthy look, which Tony expertly ignored, his eyes sparkling with unconcealed glee.

 

Too tired to argue, Bruce reached out vaguely for the pair of pants Steve was holding out to him. After missing twice, he finally managed to snag the pants and forced himself to focus on actually putting them on, his movements clumsy. God, he was tired. And he ached everywhere, but his exhaustion dulled it.

 

Neither man moved to help him, which he was grateful for. If he had been at home, and it had been just one of them, Bruce might not have protested having either of them help, but here, in the aftermath of battle, with both men on either side of him, Bruce would prefer to do it himself.

 

As soon as he had on the pants – he waved the shirt away tiredly, he was decent enough – Steve knelt down next to him, blue eyes watching him with concern. “Are you all right?” Steve asked softly.

 

Bruce nodded. “’M jus’ tired,” he mumbled, yawning widely. “Wan’ go home.” He didn’t see the two men sharing a significant look over his head, but a moment later, strong arms were wrapping around him. Bruce didn’t fight it, allowing himself to rest against that broad chest, his eyes closing again. He was too tired to even be embarrassed, though he knew he’d be mortified later.

 

Somewhere deep inside him, the Hulk rumbled tiredly, as lethargic as Bruce was. For once, though, he didn’t have to run. He could trust the people around him.

 

With a contented sigh, Bruce allowed himself to doze.

 

 

**THOR**

Thor listed sideways, sliding against the wall as he chuckled. His vision was blurry, and a familiar buzz thrummed through him, leaving him weaving on his feet. He stumbled forward another few steps before his knees gave out, dropping him back on his ass. Deciding that he was comfortable enough where he was, Thor flopped backwards, arms and legs all akimbo on the carpeted floor of the Avengers common room. He liked it here!

 

“Thor? What are you doing here? Is everybody else asleep already?” came a familiar voice. Thor’s face scrunched up as he ponderously forced himself to think. Then it came to him.

 

“Ah! Friend Steve,” he greeted with a twitch of his fingers, not yet coordinated enough to turn it into a proper wave. “It is good to see you. At least, it would be, if I could see at all,” he rumbled gleefully, his vision still hazy. He really must remember to thank the Man of Iron in the morning. Or perhaps tomorrow evening, if the way he was feeling now was any indication of his mood come morning.

 

Footsteps hurried towards him. “Thor, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Steve asked, concerned blue eyes peering down at the Asgardian prince. Thor smiled brightly up at him and tossed his head from side to side, reassuring the other man that there was nothing for him to worry about. Steve’s jaw dropped. “Are you…drunk?!” he demanded in disbelief.

 

Thor thought about for about half a second, then nodded vigorously. “Verily, I have had much to drink this night,” he said sagely, his words slurring together just a teeny bit.

 

“How?” Steve asked plaintively. “I thought you Asgardians couldn’t get drunk on human alcohol.” He tugged at Thor’s arms, helping the other man to stand and hefting his arm across his shoulders, supporting Thor with his hands around the prince’s waist.

 

Thor nodded cheerfully. “Aye, ‘tis true,” he agreed. “But our dear friend Anthony put forth a mighty effort and came to create mead as fine and wondrous as any on Asgard. Nay,” he corrected after careful consideration, pausing to wait for the walls to stop spinning around him, “mayhap ‘tis even better. Verily,” he added, because it seemed fitting that he should do so, to affirm the Man of Iron’s generosity in this endeavor.

 

Steve sighed. “Great. Tony created alcohol strong enough to make a Norse god drunk. Why does that not surprise me?” Slowly, he moved forward, and Thor stumbled along after him, laughing with delighted enthusiasm at Steve’s efforts at helping him.

 

“It has been long since I last felt this way,” he sighed happily. “Not since before my exile to Midgard.” Memories of that which had brought about the exile dampened his mood, making him feel melancholy. “Loki,” he mourned softly, not noticing when Steve stiffened underneath him, suddenly nervous.

 

“Ah, Thor?” Steve asked somberly. “Are you all right? I mean, I know Loki tried to take over New York and all, but he’s still your brother. I’m sure it was hard to see him like that.” By _like that_ , Thor assumed he meant bound in chains and gagged, his silver tongue and magic useless to him.

 

He nodded. “Aye, but Loki has always made a habit of causing trouble for himself and those around him. It seems as if he cannot help himself.” If it had been Anthony or Clint helping him, this would be the point where they’d make a jab about him being the god of chaos, among other things. But as it was Steve, the arms around his waist just gripped him tighter, helping him into the elevator. JARVIS closed the doors and moved the elevators without prompting, and the two men were silent as they waited for the elevator to stop at Thor’s floor.

 

When the elevator stopped and opened, Steve helped Thor out of it, looking around as they moved through the living space. Thor smiled sappily, pleased that Anthony had obviously put much thought into his living quarters. When he had first agreed to come and stay at the newly coined Avengers Tower when he was in Midgard and not visiting his Lady Jane, Anthony had grilled him on the architecture and style of Asgard. While it was not an exact replica of his home, by any means, it was close enough to feel almost like home. It was comforting.

 

“Where’s your room, Thor?” Steve asked softly, apparently more than willing to let the previous topic go. Thor couldn’t say he was sorry about that. Loki brought forth confusingly conflicting emotions in him, and Thor didn’t know how to deal with them. Especially not with his guard down as it was right now.

 

Gesturing vaguely in the direction of the bedroom, Thor allowed the other man to support most of his weight as he stumbled along. “I am honored to call you a shield brother,” he said, because it seemed important somehow that he let the other man know. “You are a brave captain, and you care for those under your command. Would that the mighty warriors of Asgard follow your fine example.” Asgardian warriors were more about personal glory than ensuring the well-being of those under their command, something that Thor had only realized upon returning to Asgard following his first exile. After all, he had been one of those warriors, as well, though he had couched his need for glory and recognition in pretty words. The All-Father had been right to make him earn the right to wield Mjölnir once again. He had been made into a better man for it.

 

He must’ve said some of that out loud, because Steve was blushing by the time he set him down on the bed, kneeling easily to help Thor slip off his boots. The prince was in normal Midgardian clothes, so at least he needn’t worry about the removal of his armor, and Mjölnir was already in its spot in the corner of the room, having been left there earlier when Anthony had called Thor down to his lab.

 

“Will you be all right, Thor?” Steve asked after he had gotten Thor settled and under the covers. The god of thunder smiled; Steve’s care reminded him of that of his mother’s when he and Loki had been but children.

 

“Aye, I shall be fine. Already, the fine mead is beginning to wear off,” he replied, his eyes drifting shut. He was still feeling somewhat pleasant and floaty, so sleep would come easily this night, despite the earlier intrusion of thoughts concerning his brother. “I thank you for your care, Captain,” he murmured.

 

As he drifted off, he felt a large, warm hand brush against his forehead. A light kiss was placed there and Steve murmured. “You’re welcome. Sleep well, Thor.”

 

The prince obeyed.

 

 

**STEVE**

Steve stared wide-eyed and breathless up at the overcast sky, air heaving in his lungs, his body aching and mauled, the victim of teeth and claws and brute, animal strength. Given that they had been fighting what was tantamount to a bus-sized werewolf, that sort of made sense. Didn’t make it hurt any less, though.

 

Iron Man had tried attacking the creature from above, but they had all underestimated just how high the wolfman could jump. It had grabbed the suit of armor between its jaws and shaken him like a rag doll before tossing him off into the distance with a toss of its head. Hulk, which had been trying to find a soft spot on the creature – and had been continually thwarted when the wolf used Iron Man as a human shield – abandoned the fight in favor of going after Tony. Steve was going to have to remember to have a talk with Bruce about that later. They couldn’t just lose the Hulk every time Tony got taken out of the fight.

 

Thor had struck the monstrous creature repeatedly with lightning, until a well-timed swipe of the wolf’s claws had sent him plowing face-first into the asphalt, unconscious. Clint was out of arrows – not that they had been doing any good against the wolf, anyhow, since its hide was almost as tough as Hulk’s. So that left him, Bucky, and Natasha to take on the creature.

 

Natasha had been the next one to go down, and Steve had ordered Bucky to protect her. The soldier had protested vehemently, but by then, Iron Man was returning, alongside the Hulk, so he had grabbed the redheaded assassin and bolted, just far enough away to keep Natasha away from the fighting.

 

Steve had let his concentration slip for just those few seconds, but that had been all the creature needed to catch him between its paws, knocking his shield away from him. The werewolf had played with him for a few seconds, batting him between two huge paws, careless of the claws that punctured Steve’s less protected flesh.

 

Hulk had arrived just then, and with a huge leap, he had sent both massive fists crashing down on the creature’s skull, which had effectively knocked it down. Unfortunately, Steve had still been under the wolf, and its weight had crushed him beneath it, one sharp fang stabbing deep into his side. It would heal, eventually, but in the meantime, it hurt like hell.

 

Bucky had finished the creature off, jamming the muzzle of his gun into the prone wolf’s mouth and attacking it from the inside, his eyes dark and furious upon seeing Steve go down under its bulk.

 

Tony’s face plate snapped up and he stared with wide eyes and open mouth between Bucky and the dead werewolf. “Fuck,” he breathed softly. Steve didn’t even have the strength to warn him about his language. “I am so glad you’re on our side now, Bucky-boy,” Tony added, earning himself a dangerous, venom-filled glare from the Winter Soldier, which he ignored in the same way he ignored a rampaging Hulk, like he was certain they wouldn’t hurt him, just as long as he kept his cool. Unbelievable.

 

Hulk ignored the banter entirely, gripping the underside of the wolf’s muzzle and jaws and heaving. Tony made his shaky way back into the air – at least one of his boot repulsors was busted and only working sporadically – and helped Hulk heave it off to the side, away from Steve, who sucked in a grateful breath as soon as the creature’s weight was off of him. He winced as the fang was pulled from his side, but didn’t have time to twist around to drag himself on his knees and then his feet. Instead, he found himself being picked up by a massive green hand and cradled against a wide chest.

 

He stared wide-eyed up at the Hulk, who just glared back down at him. “Ah, thanks, buddy,” he said softly. “But I can walk on my own. Honest.” He ignored Bucky’s disbelieving snort, but the Hulk just gave him a pointed shake, rattling his brain inside his skull, and then curled his arm back around him. Steve squirmed, but even his super soldier strength was no match for the Hulk.

 

Back on the ground, Tony was positively radiating with glee. “Now, now, Captain, don’t struggle so much, or he’ll drop you,” he sing-songed. Steve ducked his head in an unsuccessful bid to hide his blush. He should’ve known those careless words he had once spoken to the genius would come back to bite him sooner or later.

 

“Hulk strong. Not drop Star Man,” Hulk protested indignantly, which just got another laugh out of Stark, who patted Hulk’s arm comfortingly, offering him a bright smile.

 

“Yeah, I know you won’t, Big Guy.” Steve ignored both of them, shifting gingerly and grimacing as his side wound sent waves of agony across his torso. He could feel the blood, thick and heavy, soaking into his suit. His vision was blurring at the edges, and he realized that he might require some medical attention before his wounds actually healed properly. The last time he’d been this beat up had been when he’d gone after Bucky.

 

“Time to go, Hulk,” Tony said suddenly, and Steve realized that the other man must’ve seen something in his expression, because he was completely serious now. “Be careful with him, okay?”

 

Hulk huffed something at him, and then turned and took off, heading for the Tower. Tony had no doubt already called ahead to have a medical team waiting for their arrival. Tucking his face against the Hulk’s broad chest to avoid windburn, Steve bit his lips and kept his silence, even though each leap jostled his injuries further. He wasn’t sure if the Hulk was doing more harm than good or not at this point.

 

When they arrived at the Tower, Hulk took a side entrance that had been made just for him. He was still moving with a sense of urgency, but at least he wasn’t leaping all over the place now. Steve’s vision blacked out for a moment, and when he came to, he was situated in a hospital bed, his uniform peeled off, and Bruce Banner shrugging into a pair of pants and a shirt.

 

The scientist looked up at him and offered him a small smile. “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry for the Other Guy. He doesn’t really understand being careful.”

 

Steve smiled back at him tiredly. “It’s fine. He was just worried, I think.” Bruce nodded at him in agreement, then turned to the medical team as they closed ranks around him. He heard the door open as the rest of his team poured into the room, having just returned in the quinjet. Laying back and staring at the ceiling as they started the IV drip and set about stitching him up, Steve smiled.

 

He really did have an awesome team.


End file.
